


The Festival of Eruthros

by Maomaoyu



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Festival of Five, In a way, Multi, Perceptor-centric, Self-Esteem Issues, im sorry i really didnt notice how many ocs there are while i was writing this, some extremely BSed science related stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maomaoyu/pseuds/Maomaoyu
Summary: After crashing on an alien planet, the Lost Light and its crew are once again faced with something that wants to kill them. But surprisingly, it's not the people this time, but the planet itself. It should be as easy as kill the monster and go, but of course, it's going to be a lot harder than that.It's festival season and it seems like the most unlikely champion from the crew's ranks has already been chosen.Don't worry, Percy's got this.





	1. The Gyrus Gardens

Hundreds of stalls lined the shimmering crystal streets; colorful cloth, trinkets, and goods filling each stand. The soft harmony of the ringing crystals scattered throughout the marketplace pulsed in the backdrop of merry chattering, a peacefully warm atmosphere blanketing the city. The entire city center was packed with eager customers visiting each stall, from weapon buffs admiring the newest glass arrows from the smithy to the younglings squealing in delight at a magic trick the local illusionist them that evening. Somewhere in the crowd, a child was tugging on his mother’s arm, pointing to a shimmering toy.

“You like the flute, little one?” The vendor smiled, using his tail to grab hold of the crystal flute hanging from the roof of the stall. He placed the instrument delicately on the clothed table.

“What caught your eye this time, knt’rr?” The child’s mother shared with the vendor an exasperated smile as the youngling chirped starry-eyed at the flute, his grip on his mother’s arm tightening as he gave it another soft tug.

Without a word, she was already reaching for her credit chit, holding out a had to deposit the three credits on the table. But she gave a gasp when a tail snaking around the booth wrapped around her arm and took one of the credits from her palm before gently closing it into a fist. The vendor returned his tail to its rightful place curled around his waist, pocketing the single credit before handing the boy the flute.

The child giggled happily and started to fiddle with his new toy, pressing every silver key and glowing with delight as the flute produced a different note every time he blew into it. He gave the vendor a thankful click before scurrying away.

“Knt’rr, don’t run off too far!” She called after him, heaving a fond sigh when she saw her child stop a few feet away to show off his flute to another youngling.

She turned back to the vendor and clicked in gratitude. “Thank you so much, h’bti. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him so happy!”

He gave an amused laugh in return, “And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a little one so excited to receive one of my flutes!”

“Good day, h’bti! May the crystal chimes ring true this festival!” She gave a click before hurrying off to her child, scooping his giggling form into her arms before narrowing her eyes playfully, chastising the boy as she pressed a quick kiss to his nose.

The vendor watched the scene with a smile, leaning an arm on the surface of the table as the other absentmindedly played with an incomplete set of glass chimes, the cylinders giving a merry twinkle when they bumped into one another. He let the chimes slowly fade away and closed his eyes.

Beneath the bustle of the crowds, he could hear the gentle tinkling of the crystal chimes, their sweet sound growing ever faster.

Indeed, the festival was drawing near and all around Epheline, daring participants would emerge to take part in the games. In time, the hundreds of chords would meld into one continuous note as the games progressed, and only after the festivities would the chimes slow again. But it took no small feat to silence their planet’s ringing, and it was through the challenges that the victor would bring resonance to Epheline for the duration of the red sun’s reign.

The vendor watched as the blue sun breached its horizon, its sister sun starting to rise in the south. The Kristl standing proudly in the city center pulsed with a soft light, the rays from the sibling stars shining through it to envelop the marketplace in purple. It’s gleaming edges were suddenly lit alight in a flash of blinding white. A harmonious note swept across the planet, the cracks in the ground giving an answering pulse before fading away.

All the people in the market had their heads bowed at the first light of lavender, and a sea of eager ears twitched as their all-knowing protector gave its first blessing of the festival.

The light of the red sun signified the beginning of festivities and the close of the hibernation period. Few outsiders had ever dared to venture towards Epheline during their sacred time of worship, but it was no secret that it was near impossible to do so in the first place. Once the matches narrowed to covet the last two standing, the crystals would start to ring no less than four hundred notes a minute, creating a single high pitched screech unbearable to the ears of anyone other than its inhabitants.

The Strident was known to disable every form of tech on the planet, and no small amount of spacecraft had come crashing to Epheline’s surface the second it crossed into the thermosphere. And on the occasion that those spacecraft were manned… the pilot scarcely ever made it through the festivities to see to his trip home.

It was an unfortunate fate many organics faced, but not one so large that it kicked up a fuss. After all, it was a universally known fact that Epheline was not to be touched any time Eruthros, their red sun, gazed upon its crystal surface.

The true start of the Festival began when the first of the Gyrus Gardens awakened, and a messenger brought word of its call. But Eruthros had already begun her ascent, and the southern forest had not yet given any sign of its stirring.

Somewhere in the depths of Gyrus, a red crystal began to pulse softly, joining its brothers singing half a planet away. It was a singularity in a sea of slumbering gems, the first of many to awaken.

Startling awake, the messenger hurried out of her post in the heart of the Gardens, throwing open her door as she hurried into the darkness. She searched for any sign of light, but all she could make out was the clusters upon clusters of dim lattice. Many of the crystals towered over her, stretching towards the sky and blanketing the gardens much like the canopy of a rainforest, only tiny streams of red light filtering in from above. The light refracted off countless edges before it reached the garden ground, the resulting crisscrossing pink streaks bringing her the same amount of awe as they did frustration.

She could very easily dart past Gyrus’s first light without a second thought, and be unable to bring its message to the rest of Epheline. At that thought, she shook her head in defiance, squaring her shoulders with a renewed vigor.

It was her duty to inform the people of Gyrus’s awakening, and she would not fail her first sanction in what could have been millennia.

She searched frantically up and down every row and column, tail whipping back and forth and ears swiveling around, trying to catch any sign of the first red song.

There!

She could just barely make out the faint crimson glow in the mixture of light and dark, darting towards it in excitement. It was one of the smaller crystals, nestled in a cluster of others identical to it, lighting a circle barely more than a foot in diameter. Its sound, however, was one she knew was impossible to miss.

She scrambled to her knees and cupped her hands gently around it, closing her eyes as she pressed her ear against her hands in reverence. To her, the sound of Gyrus would always ring the truest, its sweet tenor sending a jolt of delight throughout her body. She could have spent hours just kneeling there listening, but firmly reminded herself that she had a duty to perform.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from the crystal and faced towards the light of the city, the Kristl’s ever blue glow a beacon guiding her out of the Gardens. She crouched on her haunches and, in an instant, sped off, out of the gardens and into the rays of the red sun.

Behind her, more crystals started to alight, pinpricks of crimson starting to appear in every wing of the Gyrus Gardens, the tenor growing ever louder.

The messenger’s strong legs served her well as she sprinted into the city square, the crowd of people instantly parting when they caught sight of her lithe form. She ignored the myriad of knowing stares and surprised gasps as she scrambled onto the podium, rounding up the stairs to stand in front of the brass bugle.

The vendors started to whisper excitedly, and all at once the people all bustling in the marketplace puttered to a stop to look towards her, paying full attention despite knowing exactly what she was about to announce.

She brought the valve to her lips and blew, a deep baritone sweeping over the crowd as it sent vibrations rocking into the ground. Epheline gave a shudder as its people all started to shout and yell excitedly, kicking up a ruckus over the sound of the messenger’s words.

“The first light of the Gyrus Gardens has awakened!” she hollered. “Let the games begin!”


	2. Epheline-5

A frenzied panic swept through the _Lost Light_ ’s corridors, incoherent shouting muddled in the background of the blaring klaxons. A cold red light flooded every hab suite and wing, every mech scrambling to the main deck to receive instruction from their captain.

No one wanted a repeat of the last time the alarms were raised, knowing all too well the destruction, pain, and loss they had suffered after discovering the extra storage underneath the ship. And least of all was Rodimus, the young and ambitious captain of the _Lost Light_ on their trip to find the Knights of Cybertron. But there lay no doubt in anyone’s mind that the journey would not be one without difficulties.

The moment he heard the blaring, he had abandoned his art project scratched into his desk, racing towards the main deck to address the crew.

:: Magnus? You there?:: He commed his second in command as the hallways blurred around him, just one thought in his mind as he sped down the corridors.

:: I’m on my way, Captain.:: Magnus’ ever calm and stoic voice rumbled over the commlink and Rodimus gave wordless noise of acknowledgment before transforming back into root mode and skidding to a stop next to his co-captain, the gray mech only offering a grunt. He ignored Megatron and looked over the anxious faces of his crew, save the obvious few that were exceptions.

Cyclonus kept his face perfectly straight and unreadable as normal, but his firm grip on Tailgate’s shoulder gave away his true worries. The minibot in question was near breakdown, visor starting to water as he clung to Cyclonus’ talons. Whirl stood behind the two, and despite his lack of facial features, every bot could tell that he had a glint of maniacal glee in his single optic as he waited to hear news of whatever crisis was occurring.

Rodimus found himself searching for a flash of teal he knew was always somehow involved, or needed to be involved, in any time of crisis. But it turned out that the flier himself would come to stand beside Rodimus himself only a few nanoclicks later, the ever-present chain binding him to his briefcase jingling as he skids to a stop beside the speedster.

“Roddy! You’re not gonna like this.” Brainstorm started to prattle, “There’s some sort of jamming frequency or signal out there, and it’s caused every engine and control panel to fritz and cut out. I’ve tried rerouting wires and even jump-starting the system, but nothing’s worked so far. The LL’s not gonna be airborne for much longer unless we do something.”

Rodimus furrowed his brow and frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line as he processed the information. “Any way we could quantum jump our way out of this?”

The scientist shook his head. “ ’Fraid not, Captain. In fact, I think killing the engines completely would be even better.” Brainstorm ignored the look Rodimus gave him, continuing his explanation without skipping the beat. “Whoever built the LL quite frankly made her just a tad too hardworking. The engines are still trying to operate regardless of all the things telling it to stop.”

“Just tell me what you’re trying to say, Brainstorm.”

The flier gave a nervous chuckle, “Well what I’m _trying_ to say is that it’s either we risk a crash landing or the ship goes “kablooey.”

“Well in that case…” He turned towards the mechs still clusters on the deck, regarding everyone as they gazed up at him. “I’ll tell the others. Just go and do whatever you need to get us to the surface of the nearest planet without killing us all.”

Rodimus cast a look towards Megatron, jerking his head towards the door. “Megs, you’re in charge of making sure we don’t all crash and burn. We’re gonna need an actual pilot.”

“Noted.”

The gray mech pushed off the wall and disappeared through the door, leaving no room for further explanation. Although Rodimus doubted that he needed to elaborate, he was sure the ex-tyrant would take care of what he’d been tasked to do.

He clenched and unclenched his jaw, dutifully waving off Brainstorm as the teal mech gave a nod before dashing off towards the engine room. Glancing at the scientist hurrying past him, Ultra Magnus stepped into the room, standing at the back of his captain.

Rodimus glanced over the faces of his crew, breathing out a sigh.

By no means were they all helpless civilians he was tasked to protect, but Rodimus knew quite well that after the whole Overlord situation, that he had an obligation to watch out and look after his crew as long as he held the title “Captain”, be it co-captain or not.

“So, the situation’s not looking great right now. There’s some sort of jamming frequency that’s messing with our ship, and it’s not gonna be long before we’re forced to land.” The mechs all started to whisper to one another and overlapping voices began to shout questions and worries, one asking “So what are we gonna do?!”

Rodimus’ grip on the rail tightened at that and he winced almost imperceptibly, offering only a small shrug. “We’re sure-” Everyone stumbled to the side as the ship began to tilt, the lights cut out as the familiar whirring of the LL’s engines disappeared, leaving behind a cutting silence soon filled with curses and grunts of the disoriented crew.

“Brace yourselves!” Magnus shouted, he and Rodimus gripping the door frame for balance as the ship breached Epheline’s atmosphere, plunging through heaps of musty white clouds towards the crystal surface.

Megatron grunted as the staggering amount of G-force pressed him firmly into the chair’s back, his hands still gripping the yokes as he focused on the blurring visual on the control deck. The numbers on the panels skyrocketed as others plummeted into the negatives, the hull of the LL started to glow red hot as it barreled though Epheline’s troposphere, the very real danger of the ship catching flames starting to make itself very apparent.

Just as the tops of a crystal forest appeared on the visual, Megatron jerked forcefully on the yokes, yanking the entire ship upwards. A loud screeching emanating from the ship’s underbelly told the gray mech that he had only just narrowly avoided slamming into the hard spikes of protruding glass, instead scraping the very tips.

But no sooner had the _Lost Light_ tilted upward that it found the space between it and the cold unforgiving ground lessen by the second, the skids on its belly straining to fight the sheer amount of force shoving it forwards. The ship plowed into the planet’s hard surface, an ugly streak chasing its tail.  What used to be reflective crystalline glass was replaced with a long matte streak of crushed powder. Large jagged cracks formed in the ground, branching out from the dented and smoking body of the ship.

Mechs started to filter out from the various gashes and tears in the ship’s side, some squeezing past the dented doors of the exits. Rodimus and Ultra Magnus were the last ones out, followed by a disheveled Megatron that had hopped out from the shattered remains of the canopy.

While the _Lost Light_ was by no means in pristine condition, Rodimus had to admit that the damage, despite the obvious, could have been much worse. The engines were still shot and most of the ship’s hull was blackened with ash, but it was the small victories that counted.

“I need some help here!” A voice cried. Rodimus immediately raced to Tailgate’s side, wincing as he saw the large angry gash in a certain purple mech’s back.

Well, he thought as he hollered for Ratchet, victories these days, no matter how small, seemed to be slim pickings.

Tailgate’s visor watered as he started to ramble, his small servos still clutching Cyclonus’ large talons, stuttering in obvious distress. “I-I don’t know why he d-did that! He just grabbed me and oh Primus he’s bleeding so m-much! Please, someone, help!”

Rodimus would later learn that the warrior had seen a beam on the ceiling start to wobble and immediately threw himself on top of Tailgate to shield the minibot from possibly being impaled, risking himself in the process.

Ratchet grumbled even as he pulled out bandages and disinfectant from his subspace, muttering under his breath about bots and how foolish they could be. Cyclonus had yet to reawaken, Tailgate still plastered to the purple mech’s side worriedly, running his white servo gently up and down the warrior’s helm. He would deny it if confronted later, but Whirl was also standing nearby the pair, snapping and growling threateningly whenever someone tried to even take a step near Cyclonus’ battered form.

Rodimus now looked over a confused and disoriented crew (one of which was severely injured), with their ship in a sorry state unable to help them anytime soon, stranded on an alien planet with no way off.

He sighed.

Well wasn’t this just fan-fragging-tastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are very much appreciated if you can find the time to leave em


	3. The Vermillion

“It is remarkable we did not suffer more casualties,” Magnus said, surveying a surviving datapad that he had stored in his subspace. “The _Lost Light_ was on the brink of no return in terms of damage, both internal and external.”

“Yeah,” Rodimus sighed, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he eyed the mechs all scattered in the clearing of the crash site. “Let's just hope this planet's got help and materials to spare. We’ll start scouting after the crew’s gotten their bearings.”

Magnus gave no reply, continuing his diligent organization of the datapad. The flame-colored mech nudged his co-captain with an elbow instead, ignoring the noise of protest the other gave.

“Thoughts?”

Megatron swatted away Rodimus’ spoiler as it tried to jab him once more, grumbling at the mech’s antics. He winced almost imperceptibly, unable to fight the involuntary reaction in his weary state, as even that small motion made something ache in his back strut. No doubt that was another shard of glass he hadn’t been able to pull out. “None so far. We'd best regroup and determine the next feasible course of action. Sit and hope isn’t exactly our best bet,” The warrior crossed his arms and let his head rest against the hard surface of the crystal he was sitting against. “And I know of many who could attest to that.”

“Why do you always have to be such a killjoy, Meg-” Rodimus cut himself off after he finally turned his head to his right to look at his co-captain, optics widening in horror as he saw an unmistakable trail of pink trickling from the gray mech’s side. “You were hurt?! Why didn’t you say anything?” He crouched down to inspect the wound, making a face as the energon seemed to leak even faster than before, almost entirely coating the piece of glass protruding from Megatron’s abdomen.

“First Aid! Could you lend a hand over here?” Rodimus shouted for the medic, beckoning the red and white mech over to their spot, ignoring his co-captain’s protests as well as the weak hand that tried to swat him away. First Aid turned his head towards the sound of his captain’s voice and finished wrapping up Skid’s dented arm, exchanging a few words with the theoretician before making his way towards them.

“Are you hurt, Rodimus?” he asked, already unfurling a roll of bandages, a worried look on his face. “No,” Rodimus rested a hand lightly on Megatron’s shoulder, “but he is.”

“Oh!” First Aid looked instead at the warrior, seemingly unsure of what to do coupled with a hint of fear. This little fact didn’t escape Megatron of course, and he only sighed and shifted away from the red and white mech, turning his head to the side. “It’s fine. It was only a scratch. I’m sure you have other mechs that need to be attended to.”

At this, First Aid blinked in surprise before squaring his shoulders with a vigor absent before, his hands steady as he reached for the shard of glass. “Nonsense!” he said, moving closer to the larger mech, “I tend to all of my patients.”

One of First Aid’s hands pressed firmly against the wound as the other gently eased out the glass with a pair of tweezers, discarding it before reaching for disinfectant. “This is gonna hurt a bit, okay?”

Megatron only stared blankly at the medic, raising an eyebrow in a mock question. His lips tilted up in a small amused smile as he watched the red and white mech fluster as if he only then realized who he was talking to, muttering a soft apology as he ducked his head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Megatron said, closing his eyes as he felt the soothing motion of bandages being wrapped around his abdomen. From his left, Rodimus looked on at the two mechs’ exchange with a soft expression, shifting his weight to lean against Magnus' large warm frame instead of the cold edges of the crystalline trees. The blue mech glanced over at his captain, arching an eyebrow.

“Is this necessary?” He rumbled, making Rodimus purr internally in contentment as the vibrations transferred onto his smaller frame. “Yes. Definitely. Captain's orders.”

Magnus frowned, shifting away. “I am starting to question the validity of your orders, Rodimus.”

The speedster pouted at his loss before it was his turn to shoot the other a questioning look, one laced with amusement. “Starting to?”

The larger mech turned away, the ghost of what Rodimus could almost call a smile on his face. “ My mistake,” he said, returning to his datapad, “I have been.”

First Aid looked over his handiwork before nodding in approval, moving to pack up his supplies.

“Thank you,” Megatron intoned, eyes still closed as he rested his helm against the crystal.

First Aid paused in his movements, seemingly shocked by hearing gratitude from _Megatron_ of all mechs, before quickly recovering, a small smile forming underneath his mask.

“Anytime.”

* * *

On the other side of the clearing, a red mech was investigating the outside of the ship, salvaging any stray equipment that had scattered after the crash. So far, Perceptor had gathered a handful of datapads and a couple cubes of energon. He pinged Rodimus with a quick message before hefting himself into a hole in the ship's side, sidestepping the debris and broken beams littering the ground.

:: I'm going to investigate the ship. See if there's anything we can save,:: he had sent.

:: Be careful in there, Perceptor. Do you need someone to go with you?::

::No.:: Perceptor headed into the ruined remains of _Swerve's_ , pedes becoming sticky with the spilled energex on the floor. :: I'll manage.::

The colorful vats of high grade that had escorted an innumerable amount of mechs beyond the brink of inebriation to a place where they forgot all their troubles were shattered against the tiled floor, unsalvageable.

'Swerve would throw a fit,’ he thought bemusedly, instead heading towards the energon dispenser where their rations were kept, starting to store cubes into his subspace. The energon would no doubt prove to be useful in the long run, especially if the crew was going to be stranded on the alien planet for an indefinite amount of time. Perceptor loathed to think that they would go out due to a thing like starvation; he would make sure that it would not happen if he could help it.

He stepped into the hallway after a short struggle with the door, the mechanism jamming halfway forcing the red mech to squeeze past it instead. A pair of blue optics looked down the partially collapsed hallways, a small frown on his face as he was forced to duck under and step over various parts of the walls and ceilings. The _Lost Light_ needed desperately needed repairs, and Perceptor felt a pang of guilt that he was unable to provide them. His rather inexplicable thoughts drifted around his processor as he made his way towards the rear, past the loading bays and medical ward, and into a section of the LL that didn’t get many visitors.

He knew it was useless to, but Perceptor couldn’t help but latch onto a shard of hope that lingered as he keyed in the access code. He quickly proved himself correct as he took in the sight of destruction, sighing as he stepped into the room.

His lab was in no better shape than the rest of the ship.

Perceptor set to work picking up scattered data pads and loose papers, resisting the urge to tidy up his workspace as he reminded himself that the needs of the injured mechs outside exceeded those of his own selfish desires. He moved on from his laboratory after gathering a couple more spare medkits and his emergency energon converter (Perceptor was nothing if not prepared).

He only had to turn down the hall to reach Brainstorm’s lab, lips quirking in amusement as he realized that he could have hardly told the difference between the absolute mess he saw now and how the flier’s lab looked normally. Perceptor bypassed the majority of fallen equipment, giving an odd look at a red microscope sitting innocently on a desk that looked suspiciously like his own alt-mode, to the genius’ tool table, grabbing an energon scalpel that the medics would no doubt appreciate and a box tucked away under Brainstorm’s desk unceremoniously titled “SPARE PARTS FOR A SITUATION WHERE WE ALL GET STRANDED ON A PLANET AND NEED MY GENIUS TO GET US OFF BY CREATING SOMETHING TOTALLY AWESOME.” He shook his head, whether in fond amusement or in exasperation he couldn’t quite tell, and continued to putter around the room, collecting and storing anything else he deemed useful.

Perceptor’s final stop was his own hab suite, a sullen acceptance clouding his features as he saw the usually neat and tidy quarters upturned and in ruins. But he felt little sorrow at the destruction of his room; he hadn’t exactly grown attached to it. Indeed, the walls were bare where other mechs might have had posters or trinkets, and the only type of furnishing was his customary recharge slab and a spare storage unit.

He made a beeline for said storage, pulling out his long-unused rifle from its hiding place. The scientist had been more useful as, well, a scientist rather than a sniper during the journey thus far, but he couldn’t help but feel like it would be a mistake to leave his rifle behind. He dismounted it from its stand, giving the weapon a quick once over before slinging it over his shoulder when he deemed it to be in the same condition as it had been when he had left it: absolutely pristine.

Just as he turned towards the door after gathering a good amount of his fallen belongings, his pede kicked something lying on the floor, some of the contents spilling out onto the tile. Perceptor bent down to pick up the small box of energon goodies, gently putting back the misplaced sweets back into their respective wrappers before closing the lid.

Sweets and candies were an indulgence he rarely allowed himself, but it just so happened that Drift had gifted him a box for his creation day only a few orns ago, the multitudes of rainbow-colored goodies a sight for sore eyes as he recalled happier days before the events at Kimia. He couldn’t bring himself to eat them, instead leaving them to sit as it lay forgotten in the depths of his hab suite. Perceptor fingered the box, turning it over in his palm as he traced the patterns engraved on its sides.

Perhaps Tailgate would appreciate some sweets.

Perceptor tried not to dwell to the fact that somewhere deep in his subconscious, he had decided to give the treats to the minibot because he was aware of how a certain purple warrior secretly had a sweet tooth.

* * *

He took a deep intake of fresh air as he stepped outside the ship again, finally freed from the musty and dust ridden atmosphere clouding the ship inside. His mind unhelpfully supplied a memory of his earlier days as a youngling in the outskirts of Altihex, experiencing the sudden change in air quality as he ventured away from his home into Iacon, recalling a sense of childlike glee as he took deep breath after breath, finding immense joy in a thing such as being able to breathe clearly. Primus. The red mech shook his head. Those times were over; Cybertron’s Golden Age was long past. Although, he thought sullenly, it wasn’t much a Golden Age anymore when he had been sparked.

His attention turned away from his trip down memory lane when he heard something rustling; although perhaps that wasn’t the best word, as it was more of a tinkling, like tiny windchimes knocking into one another. He looked in wonder as a small cluster of crystals lit up in his peripheral vision, clinking rhythmically as something moved through it.

A small creature with the bluest eyes Perceptor had ever seen poked its head through the edges, peering up at him. The mech froze, not wanting to scare away the first sign of life they had seen since crashing here, but at the same time wanting to bend down closer to observe the creature more carefully.

It emitted an odd chittering noise, continuing to stare up at Perceptor with those azure eyes, the scientist resisting the urge to twitch as they seemed to look into the depths of his spark as if he was a tissue sample laid across a dissection tray.

The creature crouched down on its haunches, using its hind legs to propel it upwards before a set of black wings unfurled from its sides, beating up and down a few times to allow it to gain a couple feet off the ground, gliding to land on the still frozen scientist’s shoulder. It very closely resembled the avians Perceptor had seen on Earth, with an orange-tinted beak and a crowd of jet black feathers covering its body. But where more feathers should have been was a tail not like one the red mech had ever seen, a myriad of glass cylinders strung together by clear thread, a soft clinking noise sounding whenever the creature so much as twitched.

If not for its small size, Perceptor could almost peg the creature as one most intimidating looking, sharp piercing eyes coupled with an even sharper beak. Its legs were unnaturally long for its body, reminding the mech of an odd bird he’d seen called a secretary. A single loose feather twirled from its head, the striking red a sharp contrast with the rest of the creature’s jet black body.

A low whirring sound emanated from the creature’s throat, the vibrations easily transferring onto the bared cables of Perceptor’s neck, making the scientist shiver involuntarily. He tried to determine the next best course of action, not wanting to scare away the magnificent creature but at the same time wary of what it was capable of.  

The choice was suddenly taken away from him as the creature’s head poked into his line of vision, its body snaking around the front of Perceptor’s neck to stare him straight in the monocle, bright blue eyes mirroring the mech’s own.

It pecked at the targeting monocle curiously before quickly growing bored, instead returning to nestle comfortably on Perceptor’s shoulder once more, pressing its neck into its body in a content hunch. This left the scientist motionless, still standing outside the _Lost Light_ , unsure of what to do.

But he obviously could not just stand there forever, so he simply moved on his way after he was sure he would not jostle the creature perched on his shoulder, even going as far as to adjust the strap of his rifle.

The creature gave the movement no mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are great if you'll give em!


	4. Aster

Perceptor stared overhead at the red sun, frowning as he noticed that it had not moved since he had stepped inside the ship. Perhaps there was no such thing as night and day on this planet.

“Perceptor?” The red mech looked towards the sound of the sudden voice, acutely aware of the gentle tinkling at his shoulder as he turned.

“Where were you?” Brainstorm asked, raising an optic ridge as he came to stand beside his friend. “And what is this?” He peered curiously at the creature still perched on Perceptor’s shoulder, nudging it with a finger.

“I was salvaging what remained of the ship,” came the curt reply. “I’ve obtained at least five orns worth of rations, tools, and other objects of importance.”

He shifted away from the teal mech, for some strange reason feeling the need to protect the creature on his shoulder from Brainstorm’s persistent servo.

“As for this, I can’t quite say. It is the first sign of life we’ve come across so far, however. It would be best if we did not scare it away.”

Brainstorm kept shooting the black blob on the red mech’s shoulder odd looks, but other than that the short trek back to the rest of the crew was uneventful.

“Rodimus.” Perceptor gave a slight nod to his captain before turning to Ultra Magnus, who looked up from his work to address the scientist.

Magnus recorded down information on his datapad as Perceptor listed it, at the same time pulling the said objects from his subspace. Most of all the mechs in the clearing now had their attention turned towards the pair, interested in both the massive amounts of material being pulled from a single mech’s subspace as well as the odd creature on Perceptor’s shoulder.

The red mech sighed in internally as he twisted his body away from Rodimus for the fourth time, helping the small avian nestled between his neck and shoulder mount evade the curious servos that tried to pet it.

“Rodimus, please,” he deadpanned, physically having to swat the yellow servos away.

The speedster continued his valiant efforts, optics lighting up when he successfully touched the red feather on the creature’s head. “But it’s so cute and fluffy looking!”

Fighting back another sigh, Perceptor internally slumped in relief as the large gray mech sitting beside them started to bicker with Rodimus. Megatron only gave monosyllabic answers as a heated Rodimus started to argue that he was not childish and that maybe you’re the one that need to lighten up!

After distributing rations, Perceptor found himself constantly bombarded by mechs asking him about the creature now asleep on his shoulder, giving the same tireless answer every time.

No, I do not know what it is. Yes, it is alive. No, you may not pet it, Tailgate.

But let it be said that when he’d given his strict reply to the minibot and saw the clear childlike dismay in the other’s visor, it was not Whirl’s single narrowed optic standing behind Tailgate that had made him remember the box of sweets in his subspace and gift them to the smaller bot. Perceptor scoffed internally; as if Whirl could scare him. The whole “I was a former- Wrecker” schtick did not not intimidate him in the least. It would be hopelessly ironic if someone had thought otherwise.

He crossed his arms and rested his helm against one of the crystal pillars, dimming his optics as the little avian resting on his did the same. The warm blue glow that he had felt against his cheek and had always caught hints of in his peripheral suddenly missing. A sudden squawking startled Perceptor back awake, as did many of the other mechs.

The creature on his shoulder now stared into the depths of the forest with piercing blue eyes, unblinking as it cocked its head.

“Hello?” A voice called out from amongst the crystal trees. “Is anyone there?”

The cluster of mechs started to whisper and murmur confusedly to one another.  Rodimus stood up and walked closer to the voice, cupping his hands around his mouth in an attempt to amplify his words.

“Hi! Yeah, where are you? Our ship is kinda wrecked and we need some help.”

Magnus sighed at his captain’s poor introduction, but listened to their exchange all the same.

The voice gasped and somewhere to Rodimus’ right the crystals twinkled as something disturbed it, a soft white light pulsing throughout it.

“Oh my! We do have another crash on our hands!”

“Another?” Skids whispered, furrowing his brow.

“Yes, it really is terrible business. And how unfortunate that you ventured near here during Festival season!” The glowing grew closer to the clearing, crystals lighting up in clusters closer and closer every time they heard someone take a step.

A figure about as tall as the Cybertronians appeared at the edge of the forest, peering from behind a pillar. The light from his lilac eyes refracted through the crystalline glass, mixing with the evening red of the sky to create a mirage of purple against the trees.

“I’m assuming you do not know of us or our planet, Gt’lki.”

Rodimus shook his head slowly, staring at the newcomer in wonder. “Who-who are you?” He asked, reverently. “ _What_ are you?”

The other gave a snort of pleasant surprise, biting back a laugh. “I could certainly ask you the same thing!”

He stepped fully into the view of the other mechs, paying their stares no mind, whether they be in awe or confusion. His gentle gait brought him to stand in from of Rodimus, raising a hand to press the palm firmly against the mech’s chest, the other hand gripping Rodimus’ upper elbow firmly.

“What are you doing?” The speedster had to tilt his helm upwards to look the newcomer in the eyes, looking questioningly at the hand that still layed splayed across his Autobot badge. The stranger at least had the shame to blush, quickly taking a step back and removing his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission. I suppose I simply forgot that you do not share our customs. It has been so long since Epheline received any visitors from the stars.”

He straightened his back and his tail gave a flick before wrapping around his waist, clearing his throat awkwardly. “That was a formal greeting among us Ephelians. It is usually given by one who wants to show a deep level of respect towards another. I sincerely hope that I did not offend you in any way.”

Rodimus held up both his hands in mock defeat. “Whoa there, no don’t worry about it. It’s totally cool.” He scratched the back of his helm before thrusting out his hand, nodding at the newcomer when he stared blankly at it. 

“Let’s start over,” Rodimus flashed his brightest smile and clasped the stranger’s hand in his own, giving it a firm shake. “This is a handshake. It’s how Cybertronians greet people.”

The other gave a nod, tentatively shaking the yellow servo back.

“My name’s Rodimus and this is my crew. We’re on a journey looking for the Knights of Cybertron, and let’s just say that this whole situation was _not_ a planned detour.”

The stranger gave a small giggle at that, eyes shining with quiet mirth.

“That sounds quite unfortunate, adventurer. I am who they call Aster, Guardian of the Borealis Forest. I’ve only just heard from the trees that there was a disturbance here,” he bowed his head in shame.“I apologize that I was not able to come sooner. I should have been awake many hours ago, but it seems that I still have trouble adjusting after the Hibernation ended.”

“No need to apologize, Aster,” Magnus placated, rising from his spot to join his captain. “If it does make you feel any better, we are in desperate need of repairs as well as shelter. Is it possible if we…?” He trailed off, raising an optic ridge at Aster as if expecting him to read his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, certainly!” Aster nodded and looked around at the cluster of mechs again, as if doing a mental count in his head. His soft lilac gaze had only just swept past a certain red and teal mech before they abruptly stopped and he blinked in confusion. Perceptor stared distrustfully as Aster started to walk towards him, standing up from his spot in alarm.

“Is that-?” But Aster did not seem to be paying any mind to Perceptor himself, instead staring at something just to the left of his helm. It was only in that moment that the scientist seemed to remember the avian still sound asleep on his shoulder mount, trying to relax as Aster reached  with shaking hands as if to touch the creature.

But at the last moment the Ephelian pulled his hand back towards his chest, cradling it as if he had been burnt. “No, I couldn’t!” he mumbled to himself, eyes still staring at the jet black blob, who had only just then awoken, large eyes staring straight back at the guardian.

“Uh, hey, does anyone wanna tell me what in the Pit is going on?” Rodimus stage whispered to Megatron, who’s only response was a half-hearted shrug.

But in that moment Aster seemed to snap back to attention, suddenly very distinctly aware of the confused mech that he had unconsciously pinned, looking sheepish as Perceptor seemed to try and shake himself of the other’s piercing stare.

“May I help you?” He asked curtly, watching as Aster flustered and took a step back hurriedly.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude on your personal space. Oh Eruthros, I’ve been doing that a lot, haven’t I?”

Aster shook his head, making sure that he stood a good distance away from Perceptor. But the red mech could still see the other’s eyes trail back to the creature still sitting attentively on his shoulder, staring at it as if enraptured.

Taking pity on the poor guardian, Perceptor raised a placating hand, giving the smallest hint of a tight lipped smile when Aster took his servo and shook it confidently.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen this creature before?” Perceptor asked, resisting the urge to squirm as the said creature’s surprisingly soft tipped wings brushed the side of his exposed neck cabling.

“Seen before?” Aster parroted, confusedly. He chuckled breathlessly, wide eyed as he continued tracing the creature's subtle movements. “I’ve seen it before, yes. But only from a thousand feet away on the last few cycles of Festival season! The vermillion only ever appears on the Eve.” He turned his reverent gaze on Perceptor.

“And the vermillion has only ever touched the Champion.”

Perceptor startled, taking a small step backwards. He tried to ignore the twinkling of the vermillion’s crystal tail, the sound ringing through his processor.

“Champion? Festival season?” Swerve piped up from the pair’s side as he not so subtly waved his arms. “Wait wait wait, what is all this?”

“Ah yes,” Aster said. “On Epheline, the rise and fall of our two suns determine whether we are in Hibernation or Festival season, with our blue sun, Kuaneos, watching over us in the first and our red sun, Eruthros, “ he raised a hand to the sky, as if presenting the celestial body itself to the Cybertronians, “in the second.”

“So there’s no night and day here?”

“Night and…?” Aster rubbed his chin thoughtfully before shaking his head. “No, we have heard of some other travelers speaking of such a phenomenon, but here I suppose there is no “night and day” in the way of which you speak.”

The crystal forest seemed to shine brighter, a deeper purple shedding from the trees as the red sun shifted in the sky.

“There is only red and blue, one sun or its sister.”

Whirl coughed loudly into a claw, interrupting Aster’s explanation. “Yes, yes, while I’d _love_ to sit here and chat though this history lesson, we still have a ship to fix.” He waved nonchalantly towards the _Lost Light’_ s battered form. “But really, I just need some high grade and let me tell you, _Swerve’s_ is off the table right now.”

Even Tailgate’s harsh whisper of “Whirl!” and the minibot’s servo hitting the ex-Wrecker in admonishment wouldn’t have stopped Aster from suddenly flushing from head to hoof, abruptly stopping his flow of words.

“Y- yes, of course!” He stammered, face still shaded pink with embarrassment. “How rude of me! I can’t believe I’ve been talking for so long, I should have brought you to the city by now!”

Aster gave one last glance at the vermillion before turning back towards Rodimus, giving the mech a deep bow. “Please allow me the honor of guiding you and your crew. I’m certain that you will find much of what you seek in the city.”

Rodimus didn’t bother consulting Magnus nor Megatron before bounding forwards, giving Aster a wide grin.

“Lead the way!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are great if you could give them!


	5. Meissa

The group of mechs had been trekking through what seemed like endless amounts of crystal, crystal, and even more crystal. Aster shot looks bordering on amusement and exasperation at the bickering trailing behind him, faintly recalling the last time he had to lead another person through the Borealis Forest. ‘Well,’ he thought. ‘It definitely wasn’t so noisy.’

“Where does it _end_?” Swerve groaned, his frame drooping as he exaggerated his point, near dragging his arms on the forest floor.

“Worry not, travelers,” Aster chuckled. “We are but a step away.”

Perceptor winced as the vermillion gave a loud squawk and started to furiously beat its wings, slapping him in the face as it took off. The group looked on confusedly as the jet black form disappeared into the sea of indigo, zipping out of sight.

Aster seemed the only one not surprised by the avian's sudden departure, despite being the one person who had been entranced by the vermillion the most.

“I was waiting for when the vermillion would fly away,” he sighed, tail waving gently through the air, drawing nonsensical patterns as it swayed from side to side. “It has never gone inside the city before. Refuses to actually.”

Aster ducked under a fallen tree, waving the Cybertronians through as well. “In fact,” he pondered, “This is perhaps the closest I've ever seen it get to Meissa.”

He tilted his head and cast Perceptor a curious glance over his shoulder. “Maybe there is just something about you…”

Their guide broke off as he approached another clearing, smiling as he gestured towards the grand entrance of what they all assumed to be Meissa.

“Welcome to Meissa, everyone!”

Many of the mechs gave excited or awed gasps, craning their heads to stare high above them, trying to see the tops of the great crystalline pillars marking the city’s entrance. But a single mech paid little mind to the entrance, instead deep in thought as he stood back and allowed his companions to moon over the admittedly impressive show of architectural skill.

Perceptor scoffed internally, thinking of the offhand comment Aster had given him only moments before. Him? No, that definitely could not have been the case. No mystical bird of extreme cultural importance would ever suddenly decide that some nobody of an alien race was suddenly special. Perhaps it had gotten a wing stuck between his shoulder mount.

Unbeknownst to the red mech, Drift, who was walking beside him, cast him a saddened look. The swordsmech could read the small changes in the scientist’s expressions and was not happy to see all the indicators of another spike of self-doubt. He desperately wanted to wipe away any thoughts of that nature and make the red mech happy, wanted to be there for him when he hadn’t for the past orns. But he had no excuse for all he had done and even less for all the things he _hadn’t_ done.

All Drift could do was watch as Perceptor seemed to draw into himself once more, the sudden spike of emotion on the red mech’s face wiped away as the scientist schooled his expression into one of his normal calm indifference. His spark yearned to reach out, but he forced his EM field to draw in as close as possible to his frame.

_Oh, Percy…!_

* * *

 The group of Cybertronians received no shortage of odd looks from the Ephelinians bustling in the marketplace, but that was to be expected. Even the hushed whispers and sidelong glances were completely in the norm. But what Skids decidedly knew was not, was the expressions that came along with the staring. Curiosity, excitement, fear,  and even disgust, those he could understand. But pity?

No. Never pity.

So, why?

Skids nudged Nautica with an elbow, quietly pointing out his observations to the engineer, watching as her face screwed up in confusion as well.

“I don’t completely trust these guys either,” she muttered back, unconsciously starting to fiddle with the various hidden switches and buttons only she knew of on her wrench. “They’ve been way too nice to us. I doubt there’s any planet doesn’t know about our war; aliens usually avoid us like the Cybonic Plague.”

Skids nodded, turning his attention back to Aster as they stepped towards a building much larger than any of the ones they had passed previously. Large crystal columns lined the sides and front, a gently sloping roof giving it a surprising air of grace and beauty. A stunning bust of the vermillion sat above the entrance, its piercing blue eyes captured almost flawlessly in vivid cornflower glass. All around the building looking in, it seemed as if the entire complex was created of clear crystal and confusingly see through.

“Not very practical is it?” Swerve remarked, gazing at the giant open double doors of the edifice, trying to maintain a grip on his nonchalant EM field that was rapidly melting into one of awe.

Aster laughed. “Quite the contrary actually!” He waved the mecha up the shimmering stairs, his long legs easily climbing to the top with little effort as the rest of the group lagged behind.

“There is more to the Perthiery than meets the eye.”

A seemingly endless glowing corridor greeted the mecha as they peered into the building, some of them, namely Swerve, doing a double take as they saw an entrancing mix of color that they had very distinctly not seen on the supposed see-through exterior.

“This is all very interesting,” Perceptor mused, lighting touching one of the crystalline pillars, trying to glean some sort of science as to how it worked. “Perhaps it has to do with light refraction...?”

Not a single person was listening to the scientist, however, the lot of them busy admiring the grandeur of the stained glass windows lining the walls and the streams of colored light they cast onto the floor. Rung and Rewind, in particular, were avidly discussing the designs and their importance, the former getting highly in depth of previous such works he’d seen and the latter documenting and nodding every so often at the other’s words.

Chromedome looked fondly at his conjunx, his field radiating contentment and an overflowing amount of love, one that only amplified ten-fold when Rewind asked him to carry him on his shoulders to get a better shot of one of the pieces.

Perceptor was still standing at the entrance, puzzling over the pillars and their properties, when he was suddenly knocked in the helm with an object. He turned towards the offender and merely sighed when he saw the orange and yellow form of his captain, waving frantically at him to move along with the others. The red mech bent down to pick up the Rodimus Star that had clattered onto the floor after it had been hurled at him, gripping the small badge before placing it into his subspace. It had better go with the other two he had already received, both occasions merited by the two times he had given his captain a monosyllabic answer.

The microscope quickly caught up with the others, shifting behind Drift as the swordsmech gave him a small smile. He used to have a weird sort of affection and reverence for the white mech, most likely stemming from the fact that he had gone back for him when everyone else had turned their backs.

Back then, Perceptor was still in the awkward transition between a nerdy and talkative scientist and his newly awakened sniper, his emotions still easily showing through his expressions. But the red mech had never had enough courage to tell Drift his feelings when they were still burning strongly, instead electing to ignore them, knowing that he could never try and pressure someone like the swordsmech into a thing as constricting as a serious relationship anyway.

How could Perceptor ever bring himself to be so selfish as to ask something like that from Drift? He could and would not allow himself to be the one to hinder such a free mech, to taint a beautiful spark that clearly deserved better than someone like him.

Whatever they could have had once upon a time was surely an impossibility. So Perceptor simply accepted and tried to move on.

Keyword being “tried.”

He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when they approached the end of the corridor, their guide holding up a hand to silently signal them to all take a step back. Aster knocked five times on the doors, the rhythm sending a deep echo rippling through the hallway, funneling out into the streets.

After a tense second, the doors slowly opened, a large and heavily furnished room greeting them. Sitting at the center table was a cluster of Ephelinians, all in varying shapes and sizes like those Perceptor had seen in the market. Some were fiddling with their horns while some others bickered quietly amongst themselves, a mess of papers strewn across the tabletop. The murmuring all came to an abrupt halt when the five Ephelinians noticed their presence, the one sitting at the head, presumably the one with the most power, clearing her throat.

“Aster,” she gave an acknowledging nod. “What brings you,” her amethyst eyes swept over the group of Cybertronians, “and these travelers here?”

The guardian gave a deep bow before speaking, a determined look set on his face. “Poteri, these are Cybertronians; they and their captain Rodimus are unfortunately not here to pay a visit. Their ship crash landed after it came into contact with our atmosphere.”

A look of pity crossed the Poteri’s face, her fellow members doing the same. They all whispered to one another, their concerned eyes still pinned on the mecha.

“Has it really begun already?” Skids heard one murmur to his neighbor. “I truly did not want a tragedy to befall us before the Festival had even begun!” He cast a sorrow filled look at the crew like they were defenseless animals trapped in a locked cage. Skids couldn't help but narrow his eyes and step closer to Nautica beside him, suddenly keenly aware of how they were all clustered together like a pack of mechanimals. He knew that something wasn't right. No one ever acted this kindly towards strangers without a catch. There was always a catch. 

“Alright, alright!” The council members all looked towards the sudden voice, the owner waving his hands in irritation. Rodimus stared intently at them before turning to Aster, pointing an accusing finger at the guardian. “I’ve had enough of this whole shebang. What’s up with all these looks we’re getting?”

Despite the deep sigh he heard behind him, undoubtedly from Megatron, and the beginnings of what he knew were one of Ultra Magnus’ attempts at chastising him, Rodimus narrowed his eyes and placed his hands defiantly on his hips, gazing distrustfully at the Ephelinians.

“There’s something you’re not telling us.”

Skids fought back a sigh, hanging his head in defeat. Trust Rodimus to point out the obvious. But it would be a lie if the theoretician had said that his captain didn’t get the point across like no other mecha could.

Aster seemed to shrink into himself, eyes cast downwards shamefully. The council members did the same.

“I- I suppose I was not completely honest with you, Rodimus,” he said, tail twitching nervously. “Or at least, I haven’t been telling you the whole truth.”

Rodimus crossed his arms, optics narrowed as he started to tap his foot like a disappointed mother scolding her son.

“Go on.”

“It’s a little bit more than just you getting your ship fixed and sending you and your crew on your way,” he explained. “Not that that can’t be done!” Aster added quickly when he saw the single raised optic ridge from Megatron, who was leaning against a pillar, an aura of judging disbelief radiating from his form.

“Didn’t you wonder why your ship crashed in the first place?”

At this, Brainstorm piped up, raising a knowing finger. “The engines all went haywire and the system just shut down. We were fine one second, and the next we were free falling through your troposphere!” The flier rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But there wasn’t a reason _why_. It was some sort of anomaly out there that took the LL down.”

“Ah, yes,” a council member said, nodding. “I suppose the Strident could be called that. Though  there is a rational explanation for it, no matter how unsatisfactory it may be.”

“You see,” Aster continued. “The start of the Festival is signaled both by the rising of Eruthros and the awakening of the Gyrus Gardens, but most of all it is influenced by the speed of the crystals’ ringing.

“Once it reaches a certain frequency, a sort of electromagnetic wave will result, and well, it is obviously quite large considering the fact that almost the entirety of Epheline is made of crystal. We’ve found that it disrupts any and all of our tech, and many a spacecraft has crash landed due to it.”

“An EM wave strong enough to knock out ships barely scraping your atmosphere caused solely by sound?” Perceptor said, tone disbelieving. “A frequency that high would surely kill or seriously damage a living being.”

“It seems like us Ephelinians are immune to the Strident,” the Poteri offered, clasping her hands together. “But our occasional crashes?” She shook her head solemnly. “I cannot say the same of them.”

“We do not wish such a harrowing fate on any unfortunate soul, but no matter how hard we’ve tried in the past, we could not save a single traveler. The Strident always proves too much for the delicate ears of other alien species, and we are all sobered by tragedy during what is supposed to a merry Festival season.”

“Does this mean we’re gonna die, Whirl?” Tailgate gazed up at the chopper with a watering visor, his voice and EM field laced with distress. Whirl, despite himself, placed what he hoped was a comforting claw on the minibot’s shoulder. “Of course we aren’t,” he focused his single piercing optic on the Porteri. “Right?”

His scalding tone dared the Ephelinian to give any answer other than the affirmative.

“We’ve tried, traveler,” Aster said desperately, a flash of pain in his eyes as he looked at the people that he knew he wouldn't be able to save.

“ _We’ve tried._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are always appreciated!


	6. Festival Season

A flurry of conversation broke out in the room, from both the Cybertronian visitors as well as the normally cool and composed council. If the doors had not been shut and the entire Perthiery not completely sound and vision proof, it would be likely that many of the Ephelinians bustling outside would have stopped to look inside at the chaotic scene.

Tailgate was beyond the point of subtle panicking and was now frantically fanning his visor as tears threatened to spill over, trying to deny his obvious distress even in the face of Whirl’s insistent prodding and sidelong glances at the council that practically screamed murder.

Skids had his teeth clenched and the blue mech’s grip on his own crossed arm seemed just short of denting, his dimmed optics signifying the beginnings of one of his intense thinking sessions. Chromedome tightened his hold on his conjunx’s servo, giving it a reassuring squeeze as the smaller mech shuffled closer to him, resting his head on arm. 

“Oh, dear,” Rung murmured, concern written on his face as he covered his mouth with a hand. 

Rodimus was only adding fuel to the fire, his voice the one most clearly heard over the cacophony of noise in the room. 

“There’s got to be something we can do!” he shouted, paying no mind to the pained expression and the solemn way the Poteri shook her head. “We’re not about to just sit around and wait for this “Strident” thing to blow out our audials! There’s gotta be some way to stop it, right?”

“Please understand, young adventurer,” Aster pleaded, clasping his hand together. “We do not control Epheline or the Strident. The whole purpose of the Festival is to stop the Strident and allow our planet to survive another Hibernation.”

“Well then-!” Rodimus was abruptly cut short when someone held a finger to his lips, the speedster casting a warning glance at the culprit who simply ignored him.

“Tell us more about this Festival,” Perceptor said. “It seems that our combined lack of knowledge is our greatest weakness at the moment.”

Looking relieved at this sudden change of tone, Aster quickly agreed. “The Festival of Eruthros is how we determine a champion. It consists of a series of games testing the challenger’s wit, knowledge, basic combat, and above all, endurance. Eventually, as the remaining participants start to slim, they are switched from competing in large scale tests to being paired up with a fellow competitor. The last two standing will then allow the wisest of us to deliver the final judgment.”

“The vermillion.” 

Perceptor didn’t bother phrasing it as a question, only dimming his optics as he nodded at the flow of information Aster was providing.

“That is correct. The vermillion will perch on the shoulder of whomever it deems the true champion. The prize of triumphing the Festival is not materialistic, but instead one final opportunity for them to prove themselves to all of Epheline.

The Strident, while a natural phenomenon, is not completely out of our control range. The Great Quadraxis is the beast that slumbers in the very core of our planet, and its awakening coincides with the speeding up of the crystals planetside. It is the Champion’s duty to put the Quadraxis back to rest before it can completely awaken and potentially split Epheline in half.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Swerve burst out. “You guys have a giant monster sleeping under here that could potentially kill everything on this planet and you just have some sort of festival to sort it all out?” The minibot crossed his arms. “That doesn’t seem very realistic to think any chump that a bird chose could save you.”

“Ah,” Aster chuckled nervously. “Yes, you see that was what I had always wondered as well. But since the first Festival, we have never had any champion, no matter how unpromising at the time, fail us. Our fourth champion, Kerciles, was a bit of an underdog. She was very sickly and while very sweet, not very strong. No one expected the vermillion to choose her, and many despaired when it did, but she came back victorious and allowed us to see another Hibernation.”

“So what I’m getting here is that all we need to do is get in there, sing old Quad-what’s-his-face a lullaby, get the heck out of dodge, and not die from short-circuiting our audials right?” Rodimus said matter-of-factly, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “No problem, we could do that before that thing kills us, right?”

Aster cleared his throat, sucking in a sharp breath as he furrowed his brows. “Well… that would be it essentially, yes.”

Rodimus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was always a “but” he thought to himself tiredly. There was always a “but.” He waved a hand at the Ephelinian, motioning for him to go on. 

“But?”

“But... it is the tradition for the champion to compete in the Festival and earn the vermillion’s blessing. And getting to the Quadraxis’ lair is not exactly a simple feat. The champion must traverse the Gyrus Gardens as well as the Crystal Spires before reaching the cove where they can begin their descent into Epheline’s core. “ 

Aster groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “If only you had not crashed at the very beginning of Festival season! Perhaps we could have already had chosen a champion and allowed them to begin their journey…!

“Festivities have not even begun yet! The vermillion will not appear until after the final match, and the gatekeepers will not let anyone past the Gardens without its presence.”

A voice piped up, breaking the tense silence flooding every corner of the room previously. 

“But that isn’t quite true, is it?” Perceptor said softly. “We have seen the vermillion before. Perhaps it will allow a champion to pass through the gates earlier.”

Aster perked up in recognition. 

“Yes!” he cried, swerving to face Perceptor. “The vermillion already chose you!”

The guardian turned towards the table, trying to argue his case. “I saw the vermillion, Poteri! It was perched on this mech’s shoulder.” He turned his reverent gaze to Perceptor, whispering the last part to himself. “There’s something about him, I know it.” 

The council started to murmur, many expressing confusion as they all did a once over of the red mech. Perceptor tried not to shudder; he could feel their gazes raking over him and he braced himself, fully expecting a harsh judgment. 

“Him? He hardly seems like champion material,” one said.

“He hasn’t even participated in the Festival!” another cried. “The vermillion couldn’t have possibly chosen him already.”

Perceptor could only close his eyes in quiet acceptance as the council members continued to whisper amongst themselves. But he could not quite contain his flinch when he heard some mechs start to comment as well.

Aster felt saddened as he watched the red mech’s entire frame droop, unable to do anything despite wanting to help. His heart ached for this band of unfortunate travelers. While it made up a very large part of his planet’s culture and past, he could not help but silently curse the Quadraxis. It was what ended many innocent lives that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He looked on disheartened as the group of mecha continued to whisper, only able to hold back voicing his objections at his own solid reminder to himself that it was not his place. The travelers did not deserve this. But to think that they wouldn’t even give one of their own a chance…

“ _That’s_ _enough_!” 

Perceptor onlined his optics to see Drift standing protectively beside him, his hand placed threateningly on his sword’s hilt. “You,” Drift addressed the Ephelinians, “you, I understand.”

“But you?” The white mech turned on his heel and narrowed his eyes at his fellow mecha, EM field heavy with disapproval. “You guys are really turning your backs on Percy at a time like this?”

“Drift, please.” Perceptor’s soft voice was just short of a plea as the red mech clenched his hands. He didn’t need someone to stand up for him, especially not over something like this. Perceptor practically radiated his firm belief. It wasn’t as if the others’ distrust and doubts were misplaced anyway.

He placed a light hand on the swordsmech’s arm, successfully catching Drift’s attention. 

“They aren’t incorrect,” Perceptor said, going on even when he saw the other furrow his brow and open his mouth to protest. “They have every reason to doubt me. I have hardly been earning my keep during our journey, both on the field and as a scientist. Brainstorm is undoubtedly much more proficient than me in that respect.”

The flier in question was now hopelessly stuck between perking up in joy at the compliment and wilting at the lack of self-confidence in his role model’s words. 

“Percy, don’t listen to them! The vermillion chose you, it has to mean something-!” 

Drift’s protests died away when the red mech turned his piercing gaze on him, daring him to say anything else. He gave a small nod of reluctant acceptance and allowed Perceptor to continue.

“Perhaps I was just in the right place at the right time,” came his unwavering reply. The council seemed to shrink under the gaze of his lone optic, electric blue holding them all captive. “But make no mistake that I intend to follow through. The vermillion seems to be of great importance to you, seeing as you would even think twice to even consider me as a candidate for your champion. Its judgment is one that you hold above all others.”

Aster nodded enthusiastically, brightening as he was slowly catching on to what Perceptor was trying to say. “Does that mean you’ll go?” 

“While I would not hesitate under other conditions, I hardly doubt that many will be displeased with me suddenly embarking on some quest due to the rather unheralded albeit honored judgment of a bird. I am also unsure the many citizens of Epheline would welcome and place their trust in an outsider like me to put the Quadraxis to rest.”

Perceptor turned a calculating eye to the members of the Lost Light, neither judging nor reassuring. 

“And I am well aware of the suspicion in this room alone.”

No one dared to say anything, the room heavy with an almost suffocating atmosphere. Perceptor didn’t shift in the slightest, but addressed Aster next.

“We still have time, yes? The strength of the Strident seems to coincide with the Quadraxis’ awakening.”

“That’s right,” Aster nodded. “There is still time before the frequency reaches a lethal level, but there is only so much longer before that happens. When the tips of the Crystal Spires illuminate, there remain only five cycles before the Strident reaches its peak.”

“But now?”

“You have approximately twenty-five cycles.”

Perceptor looked towards the council, straightening as he took on their skeptical looks without pause. 

“That is more than enough.”

He bowed his helm slightly, voice clear and easily audible despite its soft volume. 

“So, please,” Perceptor’s targeting monocle flashed bright blue, a strange glint in his eye hidden underneath. “Allow me to prove myself.”

“...And how do you propose you do that?” The Poteri said uncertainty, raising an eyebrow as her tail swished steadily behind her.

“Begin the games. Let me compete.”

Perceptor now pinned her with the full weight of his determined gaze.

“Allow me to show you and all of Epheline that I have already received the vermillion's judgment.”

Somewhere in the depths of the Borealis Forest, a lone jet black form darted through the crystal trees and swerved around branches, soaring upwards to burst through the canopy. The entire glistening surface of Epheline was there for it to see, the crystals all slowly awakening from the south passing over to the north. But it cornflower gaze only had eyes for the city of Meissa in the distance, pinpointing a single building in the masses.

It gave a mighty cry before streaking towards the city, a single flash of red amongst the crowd of black enveloping its body.

“And that I am fully ready to receive it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was stupidly proud of this chapter when I wrote it, so if you decided to leave any comments or criticism, I'd be happy to hear 'em!


	7. The Trial of Conlatus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Wishonastar for giving me the motivation to post this! (your comment really made my day, if you couldn't tell by the pretty overenthusiastic response I gave you( sorry if that was a bit much).
> 
> This was actually meant to be two separate chapters but hey, what the heck, why not do a two in one and give more content. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! because god knows how long I spent fixing all the fucked up wording (and i probably didn't even get everything)

The crowds roared, millions of stomping feet and clamoring yells threatening to drown out the frenzied _thump thump_ of Perceptor’s spark. Perhaps he hadn’t been thinking straight when he had made his bold claim in the Perthiery. After all, there was no denying that some strange emotion had taken hold of him at that moment and given him all the courage he had needed to speak up.

Wary optics onlined to the sight of a stadium chock-full of excited Ephelinians, all of them whooping and cheering as they watched the contestants all get called up to stand on the arena floor. There were some obvious fan favorites: a rather burly looking one with a growl that could make just about anyone tremble in fear, an unarguably attractive Ephelinian practically oozing charisma, and a silent participant standing off to the side with his arms crossed sullenly, untrusting lavender eyes raking over his competition.

Perceptor steeled himself when he heard the announcer near his name, easily making his way from his spot in the fashioned tent into the blinding arena lights.

“Next up is a rather special contestant! We have Perceptor of the Lost Light, a Cybertronian that crashed along with his crew merely a cycle ago! He claims that he has already seen the light at the end of the tunnel and that the vermillion had already chosen him before the Games had even begun! How exciting! Everybody give our newest contestant a warm welcome!”

Perceptor had no illusions that the crowd would not in the slightest give him a warm welcome, and took the confused whispering and occasional jeering where applause should have been in stride. He had hardly expected this to be an easy fight, let alone an easy popularity contest.

He took his place next a fellow participant he could not recall the name of, grateful that the other did not choose to strike up a conversation. The naming of the contestants went on for another megacycle or so, the small amount of the people on the area floor surprising Perceptor. He had expected to have a much larger competition than the cluster of Ephelinians he saw before him. He frowned as a thought crossed his mind. Perhaps there was a reason why there were not more people wishing to participate in the Games, seeing as the Festival was widely advertised as one anyone and everyone could choose to attend.

He refocused his attention when the announcer turned from the crowd and now addressed the contestants, eyes shimmering with unbidden mirth as he talked into the amplifier.

“As you all know, this is the very first of the five Games of the Festival! Today you thirteen will undergo the Trial of Conlatus. The number of contestants we see here today will be halved by the end of this cycle, with the victor from each round earning the chance to participate in tomorrow's challenge.”

Perceptor clenched and unclenched his hands, subtly glancing around him to assess his possible opponents.

“But there are thirteen of us!” Someone cried out from the far left, doing an awfully good job at pointing out the obvious.

“Well,” something in the announcer’s eye glinted in the red light of the sun overhead. “Then it seems like someone will have to prove themselves twice, no?”

Perceptor sucked in a sharp intake. He already knew who that was going to be. He was not deterred in the slightest, however. The mech knew the Ephelinians would not so readily accept him as Champion, whether or not he had already gained the favor of their beloved vermillion or not.

:: You doing okay there, Percy?:: Drift’s voice crackled over Perceptor’s commlink, the red mech fighting a flinch at the sudden voice crackling in his comm.  :: This is going to be an uphill battle.::

:: I am well aware, Drift.:: he sent back, regaining his posture. :: I thank you for your concern, but perhaps it is best if I listen to the rules of the Games.::

:: Of course.:: Drift signed off just as Perceptor glanced back up at the announcer, who had just begun to get into the very core of the challenge.

“The Trial of Conlatus tests each individual’s ability in basic combat. I trust that this will not be a difficult task for many of you here,” the announcer let his gaze linger on Perceptor just a little longer than the others, his orchid eyes trying to pierce through the mech’s very spark before sweeping away.

“The trials will begin momentarily. Please allow yourselves a one breem warm-up period before we draw the matches.”

Perceptor did some half-hearted stretches in a mockery of warming up, taking care to appear like a complete fool to the others as he silently scoped out his competition. The Ephelinians all carried with them an abundance of weapons, the burly one from before hauling what Perceptor believed was a mace over her shoulder. He snorted when he noticed the sheath of a long sword attached to the silent one’s belt, the other’s choice of weapon as well as overall demeanor reminding him heavily of the lone wolf mech he had once known Drift as.

“What are you lookin’ at, punk?” The Ephelinian snarled towards Perceptor, who quickly averted his gaze. He supposed staring had not been the best idea.

“Ah,” Perceptor decided he could use this to his advantage. “I apologize. I was simply admiring that sword of yours. I would loathe to think that I might end up facing you.”

The Ephelinian’s eyes lit up with some sort of strange glint, his lips curling up into a sneer that exposed just a bit too many teeth.

“Scared little alien can’t even stand the sight of a weapon?” he jeered, snorting as he crossed his arms. “Listen, kid, you made a mistake joining the Festival. No offense but you’re not even armed. You should just withdraw now and save yourself...oh, I don’t know, _your life_.”

Perceptor flinched like he knew a scared and clueless outsider would, trying to withdraw meekly into himself. The Ephelinian gave a bark of cruel laughter, and Perceptor could almost feel the other’s ego inflate. The red mech paid the other no mind, however. He turned away with shadows cast over his optics, shielding them from the many spectators that could have potentially caught the quiet mirth dancing inside.

“None taken,” he whispered to himself, smirking.

He subtly fingered the two energon daggers he had stored in his subspace.

* * *

 “Jrokes and Fionria, take your stands!” The announcer shouted excitedly, raising his arm in a ready position. “May the crystal chimes resonate with you this Festival!”

He threw his arm down, the arena exploding in an ear-shattering cheer, trying to goad the competitors before they had even had the chance to move. But the two in the ring did not disappoint, both of them lunging at one another almost simultaneously after the bell signified the beginning of their match.

The burly Ephelinain known as Fionria swung her mace in a mighty arc over her head, aiming squarely for the scrawny form of her opponent. Jrokes did not seem like the kind of person to be able to pass any sort of physical examination or test of finesse, and he only further proved this when he was barely able to scramble aside to avoid the ball of spike and chain hurled his way. Perceptor frowned at the obviously unbalanced match, eyes following the pair as they moved from place to place on the arena. The match lasted a grand total of four minutes, and it wholly consisted of Jrokes scurrying away from his much stronger opponent as she chased him around swinging wilding in hopes of finally landing a hit.

In the end, Fiornia got her wish, and Perceptor watched as the twitching battered form of Jrokes was carried into the healer’s tent to be tended to. While he did feel a small twinge of pity for the other, he could not help but hope that none of the other twelve were nearly as incompetent as Jrokes had been. Perhaps the poor Ephelinian had just gotten unlucky and received the trial testing his weakness before his strengths.

Luckily for Perceptor, however, he was well versed in all five of the Festival’s target cores of each of the games.

His first fight had been against a rather burly Ephelinian who chose to forgo weaponry all together, instead relying on his large fists to pummel his opponent into the ground. Perceptor had only been slightly worried at first, but quickly found himself over-prepared when the Ephelinian went down embarrassingly easily, Perceptor simply sidestepping one of the other’s rushing blows. The Ephelinian had gone crashing right off the side of the stadium, falling into the moat below.

Perceptor was, at that moment, suddenly very glad that he had to fight two people. He definitely did not want his only victory to be one resulting of winning by default.

The next few matches were a bit more climactic than the first, but there had always been a definitive winner right from the start. One of the more interesting fights had included one of the smallest competitors, a tiny fairy-like creature that had held out against his much larger opponent, an Ephelinian wielding a rather unassuming slingshot, for an admirably long time. He had darted from one of the marksman’s ears to the other, emitting an extremely high-frequency shriek as he flitted just out of reach whenever his opponent tried to catch his wings with a well-placed pellet. It had been amusing to watch, but it quickly became apparent that no small amount of audio damage would bring the marksman down. The little creature’s flight started to slow, and desperation clouded his face when he had realized that the fight would drag on for much longer than he had originally anticipated. It seems that the swift beats of his wings would eventually have to slow, and the marksman was able to clinch a part of his wing after the exhaustion started to drag on him.

Suffice to say, Perceptor mused as he eyed the newest victor who brushed past him at the tent’s entryway, it would not be much longer before it was time for his own fight.

“Pinoir and Perceptor, take your stands!”

Perceptor uncrossed his arms and strode to the stadium’s center, standing to face his opponent as the crowds’ renewed vigor washed over them, loud clamoring and whoops filling the arena. The cacophony even threatened to drown out the customary blessing the announcer gave before initiating the match. He gave the other a polite nod, smirking internally as he saw the Ephelinain’s posture relax minutely. The cocky grin plastered on the other’s face gave him another reason not to feel guilty as he fell easily into a defensive position.

“Scared little alien didn’t take my advice, I see,” Pinoir snarled, starting to circle the mech as his hand still lay readily on his sword’s hilt. “It’s a shame, really.”

The swordsman brandished his weapon, pulling it out of the sheath in one smooth motion, the razor-sharp edge glinting off the red low light filtering through the crystal pillars that framed the edges of the stadium. He gave Perceptor a menacing grin, dagger-like teeth poking out from the edges where his mouth curled just a bit too far.

“You were pretty looking for a coward.”

Pinoir charged at Perceptor, sword clutched in both hands as he gave a running leap at the mech, preparing to slice cleanly through the other's helm.

“Was I now?”

Pinoir’s eyes widened as his sword met nothing but empty air, quickly twisting his head to stare left and right in search of his opponent. His breath hitched when he saw the piercing blue of Perceptor’s targeting monocle only inches away from his face, and he ended up twisting his entire body towards the mech as he jumped back to gain some distance.

Despite being startled, the swordsman quickly recovered, a dangerous glint returning to his orchid eyes with an intensity that hadn’t been present before.

“You’re fast, I’ll give you that,” Pinoir growled, bracing himself so that his blade stood vertically, a clear _shink_ as he abruptly swung it to the side, making quite an imposing picture as he stalked forwards. “But no weapon will get you nowhere.”

Perceptor smirked, clear and for the whole world to see.

“Is that so?”

Reaching into his subspace, he pulled out one of his energon daggers, its pink hue gleaming off the teal plating of his wrist. Perceptor felt something surge through him, an odd rush of charge that sharpened his senses until all he could see was his opponent in front of him, all he could hear was the wild roaring of the crowds, and all he could taste was the color of the victory that was well within his grasp.

He jumped to one side as the swift blade of his opponent swept to his left, gripping the dagger in a backhand as he slashed at the other’s cheek. Amber colored liquid instantly pooled at the cut, making Pinoir snarl in rage as he wiped it away with the back of his palm.

“So want to play like that, alien?”

The faint pink glow of the energon dagger pulsed in Perceptor’s grasp, making it so he couldn’t quite guess if the heat was emanating from it or the insurmountable adrenaline that coursed through him. He crouched in the defensive, eyeing Pinoir as the other did with him. The swordsman smirked.

“Let’s dance.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, critique, and any kind of feedback is pretty much what keeps me going for the rest of the week


	8. Yield

The announcer shouted excitedly into his amplifier as the two clashed in the arena, making wild gestures and giving enthusiastic whoops as he performed his commentary. The people in the stadium were right alongside him, cheering and yelling, most of them rooting for Pinoir to crush the newcomer.

Off in the corner, Drift watched the fight with a critical eye, biting his lower lip. His blue optics traced the red mech’s movements to a tee, his grip on his sword’s hilt tightening imperceptibly every time he saw the Ephelinian make a close swipe. He dimmed his optics and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Drift had full faith in Perceptor. He knew the other was nothing if not competent, and definitely didn't need someone to babysit him.

But… Drift still couldn’t help but worry, no matter how unreasonable and stupid he knew his feelings may be.

On the arena floor, Perceptor was still busy occupying his opponent, jumping from side to side as he danced just out of reach when Pinoir made a stab at him. He clicked his tongue when the swordsman’s movements soon became spardonic, the direction of his blade and the force behind it now only being controlled by his rage and impulse. But he couldn’t let his guard down, Perceptor reminded himself, wincing as the tip of the blade grazed one of his exposed circuits, drawing energon.

“Had enough yet, coward?!” Pinoir snarled, rushing st the mech once more. He growled in frustration when Perceptor merely evaded again, retreating back three paces. “Stop running away!”

With his shout, Pinoir made another swing, aiming for the mech’s left. At the last moment, he twisted his body around and instead made a swipe at Perceptor’s helm, smirking when he made a clean slice at the mech’s joint where elbow met forearm, pink energon dripping onto the arena floor. The swordsman landed on his feet a few feet away, expression smug as he watched Perceptor grip his arm suddenly, no doubt in surprise that he had finally drawn blood.

But his smug smile quickly faded away, replaced by confusion when Perceptor threw his arm backward, hand disappearing for a mere second before reappearing clutching something glowing pink. “What in the-?!” He stumbled backward when the mech suddenly vanished altogether, leaving him again in anticipation of where his opponent had disappeared to.

“As you wish,” came a low whisper from behind him, making Pinoir jerk in surprise, slicing blindly as he tried to regain sight of his target. But his blade hit no marks, and he instead felt himself being kicked forwards by a foot at the small of his back. Pinoir grunted as he was forced off balance, body suddenly lurching as Perceptor made another slice at him, this time cutting into his shoulder, evoking another low grunt of pain as more amber liquid dripped down his arm.

He gave a roar of pure rage, not caring anymore about his silent vow to himself before the match had begun that he would not kill during the Festival. With a mech as infuriating as this, Pinoir thought to himself within the harsh swirl of anger of his mind, he could make an exception.

He thrust his blade forwards, aiming for the mech’s exposed neck cables.

But Perceptor brought up one of his daggers just in the nick of time, parrying as sparks flew between the clashing of the two blades. He forced Pinoir’s sword to the side with a strong flick of his wrist, now bringing up both his daggers in poise of close combat.

They exchanged a flurry of blows, metal clashing against metal as they darted their way across the arena, neither ever quite managing to gain the upper hand. With a grunt, Pinoir brought his sword down towards Perceptor’s face, the latter forced to counter the attack by crossing the two of his daggers, holding the edge of the eager blade at bay.

The two glared at one another as their faces were barely inches away from each other, Perceptor getting to see the Ephelinian’s cruel snarl and razor-sharp teeth in startling detail. He could only imagine what the cold glow of his optic and targeting monocle seemed to the other, only knowing that Pinoir couldn’t see the silent fire burning in them.

He would not lose.

Perceptor abruptly drew back his two daggers, bringing his arms to his sides before swiftly retreating before the unyielding blade of his opponent threatening to slice him cleanly in half. The sword instead crashed into the cold hard crystal of the arena floor, the sudden change in velocity making the sword loosen from Pinoir’s grip, clattering off the side. When the swordsman made a break for it, Perceptor was already there, kicking it to the side with a pede, paying no mind as Pinoir looked at his only weapon slide across the floor before it was teetering dangerously at the edge of the stadium.

He snapped his head to glare at Perceptor, face twisting as he growled menacingly.

“Why you little-!”

He abandoned using any weapons and defaulted to just his fists, making a swing at the mech’s face.

Perceptor sidestepped easily, whirling to administer a sharp blow to the back of Pinoir’s head, taking advantage of the brief stutter in his opponent’s movement to grasp the Ephelinian’s wrist firmly and twist it behind his back. He kicked the back of the swordsman’s knees, forcing him to crash to the ground in a kneel. Pinoir tried fruitlessly to turn his head and snap at his captor, struggling violently. But he instantly stilled when he felt the glowing edge of an energon blade press dangerously close to his exposed neck, chest heaving as he took large gulps of air as he was forced to wind down.

Pinoir’s laborious breathing seemed to be the only sound in the stadium as the world seemed to slow around them. He didn’t dare to move even an inch; he had no doubts that doing so would only result in the loss of a vital vein.

“Yield,” came Perceptor’s soft but firm voice, the mech’s grip on Pinoir’s wrists tightening.

The swordsman growled, glaring definitely up at Perceptor despite already knowing he had lost, trying to fight to retain the last few broken shards of his honor.

“Never,” he snarled.

The blade pressed closer.

_“Yield.”_

It seemed as if all of Epheline held its breath in that one moment, thousands of eager faces waiting to hear Pinoir’s reply.

Pinoir hung his head, shadows playing across his face as his eyes darkened. Perceptor twisted his wrist ever so slightly inwards, making the swordsman grunt in pain as his shoulder joint threatened to pop out of the socket.

The mech leaned in beside Pinoir’s bowed head, speaking softly next to his ear.

“You have fought well. There is no shame in accepting your losses,” Perceptor tilted his head upwards in a small motion, gesturing to the stands. “Look around you. There are so people that would be _devastated_ to see you go. So don't force me to make a decision for you, hm?”

Pinoir grit his teeth, eyebrows furrowing as he stared into the blank reflective surface of the arena floor. He could feel a warmth disappear from his shoulder as Perceptor moved away, and he was suddenly all too aware of the thousands of eyes on him, waiting.

“I-,” Pinoir let loose a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his whole body sagging as the low rumble of his voice drifted towards the stands.

“...I yield.”

* * *

The second he had stepped out of the arena and out into the open, Perceptor was bombarded by nearly the entire _ Lost Light _ crew, many there to say their congratulations while others like Whirl commented on the “wickedly savage” side of himself that hadn't reared its head since his Wrecker days.

The group of mecha made their way towards the city, leaving the Arena that sat at the very edge of Meissa’s borders. Aster beckoned them towards their temporary homes for the next few cycles, provided that they were able to live long enough to leave them. But no one dared to voice the morbid thought all hanging in their minds, not wanting to bring down one of the first happy moods they had experienced since they had crashed. 

They were quite a rowdy group, and the minibots, as well as Rung, had quickly earned the admiration of many of the Ephelinians in the marketplace. The older women all cooed at Tailgate’s “bluest baby blue visor they had ever seen,” had then moved onto asking wild questions about Rung’s accent, delighting in every flustered word the mech spoke as he flushed a deep blue at the unexpected attention.

Perceptor trailed behind the others, preferring to take in the absolutely stunning architecture and build of the city around him.  He felt an almost childlike glee return to him from his earlier days, eagerly absorbing every little new detail in hopes of being able to examine them later. But Perceptor soon found himself with company, glancing over at Aster as the Guardian regarded him with kind eyes and a soft smile.   
“Congratulations on surpassing the Trial of Conlatus, traveler. You were quite impressive out there.” 

Perceptor shot an odd look at the other from underneath his monocle, giving a small wave of dismissal. 

“Thank you, Guardian, but I could hardly call that a commendable performance. I did not exactly use laudable tactics.”

It was Aster’s turn to turn his twinkling gaze towards the mech, giving Perceptor a small nod of acknowledgment. 

“Please, call me Aster.”

Perceptor huffed, tilting his head upwards to look into Aster’s lilac eyes, narrowing his own optics in fond amusement.

“Then I must insist,” he said. “call me Perceptor.”

“Well then,  _ Perceptor _ ,” Aster teased, giving a wicked smile. “I thought your performance was  _ highly _ commendable.”

“Oh?” Perceptor raised a brow in retaliation. “How so?”

“Well,” Aster tapped his chin in mock thought. “You did not ruthlessly charge at either of your opponents with the sole aim to kill as many others had, nor did you hide and run like a coward.”

The Ephelinain’s teasing tone melted into something more serious, a twinge of respect now coating his words.

“You could have easily slit Pinoir’s throat and ended the match that way. I have no doubts that if your positions had been reversed that would have been what had happened. But you didn’t.”

Perceptor found himself pinned by the full force of Aster’s admiring gaze, staring dazedly at the taller as he took in every word.

“No champion has been so kind as you. No champion had bothered to even give their opponent the option the “yield”.

Aster gave an airy laugh, turning away from Perceptor. 

“I suppose I was right, Perceptor,” he said as he walked towards the front of the group once more, waving to direct everyone towards the living district.

“There is just something about you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, critique, and feedback fuel me


	9. The Trial of Ratio

“Twenty four more cycles…” Perceptor mumbled absentmindedly to himself, eyes fixed on the large scrolling screen hanging on the arena. The other five remaining contestants beside him stood in their respective stands as well, a stylus in each one’s hand as they too looked on at the display. The stadium was not nearly as full as it had been the previous trial, a fact that Perceptor was thankful for. 

He could do without the thousands of pressing eyes, watching, as their expectations only skyrocketed.

The announcer greeted the contestants jovially, waving a hand as he gestured to the screen.

“As you all may know, the Trial of Ratio is a test of your knowledge, of the amount you use that brain of yours!” He tapped the side of his head. “Knowledge is a gift, but not many accept it. The champion is not a ruthless being with no rationality. We will see which of you contestants are able to solve these simple riddles and problems using that gift.”

The screen flashed purple before dimming, a preset timer appearing on the screen. Large red numbers stared unyieldingly at the participants standing behind their booths, signaling their extremely slim time margin of thirty minutes.

“The four of you that solve the most problems in the allotted time will move on and return tomorrow for the next trial. The remaining two, however, we will, unfortunately, have to bid farewell.”

The announcer clapped his hands together, lifting a hand to the timer. 

“Ready your styluses, contestants! Because the trial begins… now!” With a snap of his hands, the timer started to count down.

Perceptor didn't bother checking his competition, instead instantly immersing himself in the problems that appeared on his personal display on the stand, stylus flying across the screen as he made short work of the first question. For the next good handful of questions, he had no problems, continuing to whiz past simple trigonometry to the toughest astrophysics equation without pause. He could only faintly hear the groans of frustration beside him as a couple of he Ephelinians scratched their heads as they frantically tried to crack a particularly difficult question.

Perceptor showed his first signs of slowing when he encountered his first riddle. 

_ I can bring tears to your eyes; resurrect the dead, make you smile, and reverse time. I form in an instant but I last a lifetime. What am I? _

While he was well versed in the many scientific fields and mathematical equations, Perceptor could not say he had the same deft efficiency with tricks of the word. He knew how misleading riddles like these usually were and cautioned himself by wiping his mind blank. He reread the problem again.

Bring tears to his eyes, resurrect the dead, reverse time. Perceptor pondered on the problem. Certainly nothing material was quite so powerful. So a concept, the mech reminded himself, something intangible. 

Form in an instant but last a lifetime. Perceptor’s next thoughts ran through his head in the span of mere seconds, and only moments later the answer was written neatly on the screen before another easy equation presented itself.

As he sped through the substitutions and calculations, a small part of Perceptor’s mind thought over the riddle once more. The answer had been so simple when he had finally had it realized, the fact that it had taken him so long to figure out almost an insult to his own ability. But that did seem to be a trend with riddles in general. At the moment they seemed almost impossible, ridiculous and deceptive. Some needed the person to overthink things, analyze every detail and subtle wording. Others mocked this by presenting an easy answer hidden in the depths of metaphor and analogy. 

Suffice to say, Perceptor fancied neither.

But it was with neither of the methods did he arrive at his answer. It had been a realization, a moment he recalled that made it all too clear for him to see.

A memory. 

Memories brought tears to his eyes, resurrected emotions long thought dead, reversed time and brought him back to happier places. 

Perceptor shook his head, glancing back up at the timer as the final seconds started to count down, finishing up his last problem with a flick of his stylus, internally pulsing with satisfaction as the green light lit up to signify another correct answer.

The timer beeped noisily as the thirty minutes drained through its last seconds, startling the other participants who had still been hard at work, some cursing in frustration and, in one Ephelinanin’s case, hanging his head in resignation of his fate.

“Put down your styluses contestants! It is time to see how you all did!” The announcer brought up the score of the first Ephelininan contestant, whistling appreciatively as her high score flashed on the display.

“Sixty-eight problems correctly solved in just thirty minutes!” She seemed to puff out her chest in pride, basking in the cheers and applause the scant audience rewarded her. The announcer nodded his head. “Very impressive indeed!”

He cycled through the next few scores with the same enthusiasm, but giving neither praise nor criticism to the few Ephelinaians that had scored especially low. The two of them hung their heads in silent dejection.

The announcer was on the fifth Ephelinian, the charismatic one with an unusual aversion to anything not a specific shade of lavender. He grinned cockily at the stands, using one hand to mockingly wave goodbye to the two low scoring Ephelinians as he inspected his other immaculate hand for the nonexistent particles of dirt. 

“And we have here the one and only, Jadelite, who scored… ninety-two!” The announcer gasped, eyes widening in surprise and awe. “I don’t believe we’ve ever seen a score this high! Jadelite never seems to disappoint!”

The said Ephelinian smirked, tossing his hair with an air of arrogance.

“It is true, you know,” he said pompously, crossing his legs as he turned to look at Perceptor. “Don’t feel so bad, hon, I’m sure you’ll get a forty at the  _ very least _ .”

The mech took a step back, back hitting the side of the booth. Perceptor really did not wish this man’s attentions upon himself. Those cruel lavender eyes did not make for a pretty picture as they lit alight with a sense of fiendish delight.

Perceptor tore away from that gaze to look at his score on the board instead, freezing instantly when he saw the number. How in the name of Primus…

The announcer had also fallen silent, mouth falling open as he stuttered unintelligibility at the unmistakable three digit number.

“A-and Perceptor of the L-lost Light has a score of...o-one hundred twenty one…”

Jadelite snapped his head towards Perceptor, narrowing his eyes as his mouth turned downwards in a brutish growl. “That stupid announcer must be sick in the head! There’s no way an incompetent like _ you _ scored that high!”

Perceptor’s processors seemed to finally unfreeze from their brief stall at the Ephelinain’s words, the mech shaking his head dazedly.

“I suppose I can’t quite explain it either…” he mumbled. “I would have never expected…”

“Damn straight you can't!” Jadelite snapped. Something must have fritzed in that blasted counter! I want a reassessment!” 

The announcer, while hard pressed to do as the huffy Ephelinian demanded, only shook his head apologetically. “I'm afraid I can't do that. The trials are to be taken once and only once. Surely you know this?”

Jadelite slumped grouchily and leaned heavily on the side of his stand, arms crossed as a frown marred his face. He blew away a piece of hair that had fallen in front of his eye. 

Perceptor only stood by awkwardly, shifting as he tried not to speak up.

“ I suppose I pass onto the next trial then…?”

The announcer's gaze snapped towards the mech, motion jerkily as if he had only just realized that Perceptor existed.

“Yes, of course!” He gestured to the red mech with a grandiose hand, a large smile plastered on his face as he addressed the audience. “Perceptor, Jadelite, Hourdin, and Olivate are the participants to proceed to the next trial tomorrow! And our newcomer will leave with a new record in the entire history of the Festival season with an astounding total of one hundred and twenty one!”

Suddenly the scarce crowd did not seem as lacking as it was before, and Perceptor couldn’t help but unconsciously try to shrink into himself as he felt the seemingly hundreds of eyes on him as they stared with a  mixture of amazement, disgust, and disappointment. 

In his peripheral he could catch a glimpse of Jadelite’s piercing lavender eyes that burned with anger and contempt, trying to sear a hole though Perceptor’s very helm. The mech offlined his optics and let out an almost inaudible sigh.

He still had a long way to go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry i know its been a whole ass month and i dont even have an excuse
> 
> but any feedback is molto bene


	10. interference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am not that great at writing romance, or really even friendships. I'd really appreciate if any one of you guys could tell me if anything feels a bit stilted or really just out of place or unnatural with any interactions between characters. Because god knows there a ton of fics out there that make characters go from 0 to 100 real quick, and im trying not to do that.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! There's finally a taste of that Drift/Percy tag that's been hanging on this fic for a while now, but I honestly can't say its a very good one.

Perceptor sat silently on a bench in one of the recreational parks, nursing a cube of energon. He had his attention focused on the datapad in his hand, idly swiping through the digital pages as he tried to pass the time by reading up on Earth’s native fauna. The red glow of the sun had shifted to illuminate the Gyrus Gardens all the way in the south, leaving the blue glow of the Kristal the only thing lighting up the city. Perceptor tried to relax into his seat, sighing as he made his way through another paragraph. He should have been with the others in the residential district, celebrating with them over his “stunning victory today” as Aster had so kindly put it.

But it had only been fifteen minutes into the “party” before Perceptor had slipped quietly through the door, clutching his ration in one hand and a datapad in the other. He returned his greetings to any Epheline nice enough to give them, but spent most of his trip to the bench in silence, pondering.

He had done well so far as the first two trials, but it was sure to become more difficult as the days passed. Perceptor’s grip on his cube tightened.

What if he didn’t make it past the next two trials? Then would all his efforts have been in vain? The entire crew was counting on him since the very second he had foolishly offered himself up on a silver platter. He had claimed that the vermillion would choose him again, but there was no way for him to truly know that.

Even if he did successfully go through all five of the Games, who was to say that the vermillion would deem him worthy to be Champion?

Perceptor sighed. Why did he sign up for this quest again?

He lost himself in his reading once more, letting the bustling of the Ephlinains around him fade into white noise in the background. 

“Hey, you!”

Perceptor titled his head up at the sudden voice, startling when he saw a familiar snarl. He reluctantly put away his datapad, internally sighing as he prepared himself for the conversation that was bound to occur.

“Jadelite, was it?” he asked indifferently, clasping his hands together. “To what do I owe this visit?”

Jadelite scoffed, placing his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at Perceptor. 

“To what do I owe this visit?” he parroted, a cruel look in his eye. “Who even talks like that?”

Perceptor rolled his optics, deciding to humor the other. “Yes, I am told that I tend to be rather superfluous in my ways of speech. In the words of my captain, “Why use one word when fifty will do?”

Jadelite’s face screwed up in a grimace, his lips curling to show one too many teeth. 

“I didn’t come here to hear about you and your precious captain, you _incompetent_.”

“Then pray tell why you did?” Perceptor shot back cooly, his own patience starting to wear thin.

“Look, I’m just here to give you a friendly little reminder about why you’re even here in the first place,” Jadelite flipped his hair haughty, jabbing a finger to Perceptor’s chest. It took everything the red mech had not to forcibly remove that finger from his person as well as its owner.

“You are here because of a mistake,” Jadelite snarled, poking Perceptor harshly. “You are here because of some stupid luck.” Another poke. “You are here even though you have no right to be.”

“You don’t deserve to be our Champion.” 

Poke.

“The vermillion will never choose you.”

Poke. 

Jadelite leaned down to hiss right into Perceptor’s audial. 

_ “You are nothing.” _

* * *

 

“Where were you, Percy?!” Swerve hollered merrily, waving with his free hand. “Didn’t wanna spend time with us celebrating your win today?”

Perceptor stiffened from his spot near the doorway, his hand frozen over the knob he had tried to nudge closed. He had planned to just slip past the rowdy bunch in the rec room and head straight for his quarters, but it seemed that Swerve had a much keener eye than he had thought.

“...I would like to rest after today’s trial if you do not mind. I should be well rested for whatever comes tomorrow,” Perceptor said softly, glad that at least no one else had bothered to call out to him besides the bartender. But he only sighed when he saw that Swerve had already turned his attention elsewhere, laughing at a joke Bluestreak told as he shook up a drink.

So the red mech simply headed deeper into the building, bypassing the chattering mechs all gathered in the rec room, offhandedly tossing his empty cube into the trash. As Perceptor disappeared around a corner, a pair of blue optics followed.

Sighing, Perceptor sat heavily on the side of the berth, wringing his head in his hands. The datapad laid forgotten on the table. He dimmed his optics and exhaled deeply as if trying to push out all his frustrations along with the rush of warm air.

Perceptor sat like this silently for a couple of minutes, just thinking. 

He knew it was not wise to think about the words of a person who obviously has ill intentions towards him, but the red mech couldn’t help but had his mind wander back to the confrontation in the park only hours ago.

Jadelite wasn’t someone he should be listening to; he knew this. But still, Perceptor felt the shadows of self-doubt trickle into his processor, like a stream of energex mixing in a test tube.

The red mech shook his helm tiredly, giving a sidelong glance at the berth that seemed increasingly inviting by the moment. But he only gave a huff when he was suddenly reminded why he could not when another loud whoop from down the hall rang off the walls, in a voice distinctly like Whirl’s.

So the red mech reached for the rifle leaning against the table instead, procuring his cleaning kit from his subspace. He opened the case and started to disassemble the gun with well-practiced methodical motions, laying out the pieces on the bed.

As he started to wipe down the barrel and clean out the residue that had collected inside, Perceptor started to play a soft tune he had downloaded; some sort of Earth classic he had forgotten the name of. It was a quite stunning piece, he thought. The harmonious sounds of the wind instruments, unlike any Cybertronian synth he had heard before. A flute, he believed it was called.

He lost himself in his routine, the soft music drifting around him as the noise in the rec room slowly faded into the background.

The whimsical notes danced from the audio player, and Perceptor found himself likening it a song. To a beautiful melodic voice that sang so sweetly and left him feeling relaxed and sated.

He held up the rifle’s scope to his own optics, aligning the crosshairs as he recalibrated the delicate piece. Lost in his activity and deaf to the world, Perceptor didn’t notice the mech slipping into the room, standing silently by the door as he waited to be acknowledged. 

Drift had his arms crossed as he watched Perceptor with a soft gaze, tracing the scientist’s movements as the red mech was completely absorbed in his task. He couldn't help but admire the other mech, of his precise movements and reserved grace. Drift would hasten to say that he would have been content just watching Perceptor do what he loved.

Only just putting the rifle back together, Perceptor turned to reach for the gun’s stock on the table when he saw a flash of white in his peripheral. He tensed and immediately whirled to point his rifle straight at the intruder, finger hovering over the trigger.

But Perceptor’s hard optics instantly softened when he saw just who it was he had inadvertently threatened, and hurriedly dropped the rifle from his monocle apologetically. 

“What have I told you about sneaking up on me, Drift?” Perceptor chided, placing the rifle down once more.

The white mech only gave an amused smile as he crossed his arms and made his way towards the berth, plopping himself down on the edge.

“Not to?” Drift shot Perceptor a cheeky grin. “But you should know by now that I don’t listen.”

Perceptor stored away from the tool kit back into his subspace, not even sparing the swordmech a glance as a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

“Perhaps you should learn to.”

“I noticed you didn’t stick around in the rec room after your walk,” Drift commented offhandedly, glancing at his friend as he returned his rifle to its place. “Did something happen?”

Perceptor stuttered in his movements, but only for a slight astrosecond, and immediately regained his composure. Drift, however, had already zeroed in on the brief pause and narrowed his optics in suspicion.

“No, nothing at all,” Perceptor replied, inadvertently trying to avoid eye contact with the other mech. Another red flag, Drift thought.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me.” Drift scooted closer to the sniper, his worry for the other bubbling back up to the surface. “It’s about these games isn’t it?”

Perceptor didn’t give a reply.

“You’ve been doing amazing so far,” Drift consoled, laying a light hand on the other’s arm. “But I have a feeling it’s not about the actual scores.”

“I know this had probably been really hard for you, participating in these trials knowing that everyone is counting on you." 

Drift's light hand curled around Percy's arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He looked at his friend and a million thoughts raced through his head.  

"But, Percy, please."

Perceptor felt his spark leap when he saw the genuine love and care that shone in the white mech’s azure eyes. What had he ever done to deserve this beautiful mech?

“You’re not alone.” Drift held steady eye contact, knowing that, despite the way Perceptor’s gaze kept trying to flicker away, the other  _ needed this _ , needed to know.

“Please,” his voice was near a whisper. “Let me help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commentsand/or critique fuel me

**Author's Note:**

> comments are very much appreciated, my dudes. trust me I know i'm not the best writer either, and i'd love to have a beta reader but atlas i can't seem to find one or even muster up the courage to reach out. So I'm sorry for any glaring mistakes but i trust you'll tell me anyways


End file.
